Ellie

by Lesley Pearse

  ‘I don’t want it,’ Ellie sobbed. ‘Go away.’

  ‘How dare you speak to me like that, you ungrateful wretch,’ Miss Gilbert retorted, her voice rising to her usual screech. ‘It’s a good job Mr Gilbert isn’t here to witness such rudeness.’

  A feeling of utter desperation welled up in Ellie. She had been alone with this cold-hearted woman from two in the afternoon until she’d been sent to bed at half-past seven. Not one word of consolation had passed the woman’s lips, no kindly reminders that she still had a home here. In fact, as the afternoon wore on, Ellie had felt distinctly menaced.

  ‘If he was here you wouldn’t dare be so nasty.’

  ‘So you think you’ve got a champion in my brother?’ Miss Gilbert said in a chilling voice.

  ‘Well you’ve never liked me,’ Ellie cast at the woman, hating her for her meanness, her skinny long body and all that bitterness trapped inside her. ‘You’re glad, aren’t you?’

  The black-out was firmly over the window, as always, but there was enough light to see Miss Gilbert’s face. Her eyes glinted with malice.

  All at once Ellie was scared. All year she’d avoided any confrontation with this woman without really understanding why. Now she saw the craziness that people in the town spoke of and wished she’d just taken the drink and kept silent.

  ‘Yes, I am glad,’ Miss Gilbert spat at her. ‘She was a common floozy and she’d set her cap at my brother. All that play acting she had you doing! If I’d had my way I’d have stamped it out long ago. Well, you’re an orphan now, and you’ll show a little gratitude for the people that have had you foisted on to them. Now drink this.’

  The insult to her mother wiped out Ellie’s fear. She sprang out of bed, swiping the cup out of the woman’s hands, knocking it to the floor.

  ‘You cow,’ she snarled, her hands coming up to claw the woman’s face. ‘You’re evil and cruel. How could you say such things about my mother? Get away from me or I’ll kill you.’

  Ellie had the element of surprise, but Miss Gilbert reacted like lightning. She caught Ellie by one wrist and twisted it round sharply, with the other hand slapping her hard across the face. ‘Kill me, will you?’ she shrieked. ‘You, you, fiend!’

  Before Ellie could strike back she was spun round, both wrists caught behind her back. She struggled to get free, but Miss Gilbert was the stronger.

  ‘I know just the place for you,’ the woman yelled. ‘And you won’t like it one bit. I’ll teach you to answer me back.’

  Ellie screamed at the top of her lungs as she was pushed out of the door towards the stairs. Miss Gilbert only held her tighter, twisting Ellie’s arms up behind her back until they felt as if they were being pulled from their sockets. Down the stairs she was pushed, a knee in the small of her back each time she tried to free herself. When they reached the hall Ellie struggled harder still to escape, but the woman had superhuman strength now, grunting ferociously as she pushed Ellie towards the cellar door.

  ‘No,’ Ellie screamed. ‘No please. Not in there!’

  The door swung open, a black yawning hole in front of her, but though Ellie pushed back against Miss Gilbert and dug her bare toes into the floor, a thrust against the small of her back sent her hurtling forward.

  Ellie landed face down at the bottom of the stone steps, momentarily stunned.

  A burst of maniacal laughter from above her made her lift her head and she had just a brief glimpse of Miss Gilbert’s skinny silhouette against the light from the hall.

  ‘I’ll teach you,’ she shouted down. ‘You’ll stay in there till you rot.’

  The door slammed and Ellie was left in total darkness.

  ‘No,’ she screamed in terror. She was used to a dark room, but this was thick, oppressive blackness. ‘No.’

  She heard the key turn in the lock, then the sound of feet walking away, back up the stairs.

  For a moment Ellie just lay there, her mouth full of coal-dust, her knees and forehead throbbing. But as the cold, stone floor penetrated her thin nightdress and she remembered what this place was like by day, she hauled herself up, groping blindly for the steps.

  At the top she pummelled at the door with her fists. ‘Let me out,’ she yelled. ‘I’ll tell Miss Wilkins and Auntie Marleen when she comes. Let me out.’

  She had no idea how long she banged and screamed for, but it did no good. No light came on. No sound of movement outside. She sank down on to the steps and sobbed.

  Ellie knew the cellar well: she had often been sent down there for coal. Twelve steps to the bottom, then about another twelve feet to where the coal was. Even by day, with Mr Gilbert’s big torch, it was a scary place. Spiders’ webs hung from the beams, and there was a dank, nasty, choking smell. Now she imagined all those unseen spiders watching her in the dark, perhaps edging their way towards her. Aside from the door there was only one other way in, through the round iron hatch into which the coalman emptied his sack from the street. During the day tiny pinpricks of light came in through the hatch, but she knew that even standing on the coal she’d never be able to reach it, much less manage to push it open and climb out.

  It was so cold. She pulled her knees up to her chest, drew her nightdress down over them and hugged her knees tightly.

  Something touched her cheek and she jumped, brushing it away, terror almost suffocating her. She pressed her back hard against the door, her heart pounding. Icy prickles ran down her legs and arms, and when she put her hands up to her face she found her forehead was sticky with blood.

  ‘Mummy,’ she sobbed, but voicing that word felt like a stab through the heart. She hugged her knees harder and tried to think.

  ‘Come home Mr Gilbert,’ she said aloud, her voice echoing eerily. She guessed he’d gone straight to his fire-watching duty after returning from Cambridge and he rarely came back from that until morning.

  All sorts of strange noises came as she sat there shivering. Part of her mind told her it was only the coal shifting slightly, but the other part thought of rats and mice. Goosepimples jumped up all over her and again and again she thought something was touching her. She closed her eyes, burying her head in her knees, but as something dropped on to the back of her neck, she screamed and leaped up, shaking her nightdress and jumping up and down

  Anger got the better of her again. She banged on the door, screaming at the top of her lungs, and swearing too – all those words she’d heard, but until now never dared use.

  ‘You evil bugger,’ she yelled. ‘You mad, fucking cow. Open this door immediately.’

  Sheer terror made her stop, her voice dropping to a mere whimper as she pleaded to be let out.

  She heard the sound of heavy boots on the pavement outside. Holding on to the rail, she went down the steps right to the bottom, across to the heap of coal, and yelled again.

  ‘Help me,’ she screamed. ‘Miss Gilbert’s locked me in the coal cellar. Get the police. Help.’

  But they couldn’t hear. Ellie heard the footsteps fade away into the distance and as she turned to go back up the stairs her foot touched something furry.

  Absolute horror made her stumble back up the stairs again, cowering by the door, shaking so much she felt sick.

  She heard the clock on the church strike twelve, but it seemed like a whole night before it struck one. Again and again she got up, holding on to the rail and trying to run on the spot just to warm herself, but her knees hurt and the cold, concrete floor on her feet was unbearable. Ellie tried to think of warm things. She imagined the dressing-room at the Empire with all the chorus girls crowding in to change. The parties in Alder Street, when as many as thirty people crammed into one small room, or lying in the hot sun in Victoria Park. But each one of these images only reminded her of her mother, and that she’d never see her again.

  The church clock struck four. When she heard the sound of footsteps again she thought she must be imagining it.

  She was frozen solid now, so stiff she could barely turn her head, let alone stand
up. But the sound came closer and all at once she realised it wasn’t from outside in the street, but in the house.

  ‘Mr Gilbert,’ she yelled, half turning to bang on the door. ‘Let me out. Please, please help me.’

  ‘Ellie?’ His voice was questioning. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she sobbed, trying hard to explain. ‘Just unlock the door and let me out.’

  ‘The key isn’t in the door,’ he said. ‘Hold on – I’ll go and get it. Just calm down.’

  Ellie’s anxiety grew even greater as she heard Miss Gilbert’s voice again. She was clearly following her brother down the stairs.

  ‘Leave her in there till morning, she deserves it,’ Ellie heard her say.

  ‘Get back upstairs, woman,’ he snarled at her. ‘You’re mad, Grace, completely out of your mind.’

  ‘Let her out and you’ll be sorry,’ Miss Gilbert shrieked back.

  ‘You’ll be sorry.’ Mr Gilbert’s voice came nearer and nearer to Ellie. ‘Now get away from here, out of my sight. Go.’

  The key turned in the lock and the door opened, light dazzling Ellie. She was too stiff to move away to allow the door to open fully. She just sat, hunched the way she’d been for hours, looking up at him beseechingly.

  Amos Gilbert was not an emotional man, but the sight of the child sitting on the step, blinking in the light, made his stomach churn. She was completely black, aside from two clean channels down her cheeks where tears had washed away the coal-dust.

  He manoeuvred himself down past her, lifted her up over his shoulder so he could open the door properly, and carried her out.

  Once he got her into the kitchen, it was her temperature which frightened him the most. Her limbs were set, unable to move.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Ellie,’ he managed to stammer out as he sat her on the one comfortable chair. ‘Let me get you warm again.’

  He found a couple of blankets and wrapped them tightly around her, then stirred up the stove and added new kindling until he got a blaze going. He put a pan of water and a pan of milk on to heat up, and while he waited he rubbed her legs with his hands, trying to bring back some movement.

  In all this time Ellie was silent, her eyes following him around the room, red-rimmed and swollen against the black soot.

  ‘Can you tell me what happened?’ he asked, kneeling in front of her. ‘What started it?’

  ‘Mummy’s dead.’

  Amos heard what she said, but he couldn’t believe it. ‘No surely not,’ he said gently, thinking the night in the cellar had brought on strange delusions.

  Haltingly, Ellie croaked out how Miss Wilkins had brought her home from school, and described the events which followed it. As the sickening truth struck home and he heard the pain in Ellie’s voice, Amos felt murderous towards his sister.

  He gave Ellie the hot milk first, adding a little brandy to it, and gradually he saw movement coming back to her arms and legs.

  He knew what she needed, because he’d needed it too when his mother died. But he was afraid to reach out and enfold her in his arms – it was so long since he’d held anyone.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ he admitted as he poured warm water into a basin to wash her. ‘I’m so very sorry, Ellie, I’m heartsick. Your mother was a lovely woman, one of the best, and I can’t make any excuses for my sister’s cruelty.’

  Ellie gave a shuddering sigh. As she slowly grew warmer, so she became aware of the pain in her knees and forehead. She was exhausted, drained to the point where she couldn’t even voice how she felt.

  She let him wash her hands, feet, legs and face. She could feel the tenderness in his touch and it made her want to cry again.

  He brought a clean nightdress from somewhere. It was big and thick and she thought it might be his mother’s. He turned away as she managed to get out of the soiled one and into the clean one. Then he gave her a thick sweater and bedsocks, and dressed the abrasions on her knees and forehead.

  ‘I wish,’ he said, tucking the blanket around her again as he went to make her a second drink.

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  He sighed deeply, pulling up a chair in front of her, and took her hands in his.

  ‘So many things,’ he said, his big rugged face contorting, as if trying not to cry himself. ‘That I’d never let you stay here. That I’d had Grace put away out of harm’s way years ago. That I hadn’t been so selfish.’

  ‘You haven’t been selfish.’ She began to cry now. ‘You’ve always been good to me.’

  Amos let her cry, offering first a clear, handkerchief, then the hot drink, feeling utterly powerless. He had more experience of death than anyone, yet he still couldn’t find the right words to soothe her. He had the justification now to get Grace put away for good and he intended to do it, but that wouldn’t help Ellie to forget this night. Neither could he hope that Ellie would ever want to see him again after her mother’s funeral.

  ‘I have been selfish,’ he said, gently wiping her face for her, aware he must at least try to explain his feelings. ‘You see, I so much wanted you to stay here that I chose to ignore what I knew Grace was capable of.’

  Ellie looked up at him, eyes wide with bewilderment.

  ‘I’d begun to think of you as my daughter,’ he continued, his voice cracking with emotion. ‘With your fun and gaiety you filled a big hole in my life. But if I’d been anything like a real father I wouldn’t have become complacent about Grace. I’ve failed you, and your mother, who I think trusted me.’

  Such a frank admission comforted Ellie in a way that mere sympathy could never have done. ‘You didn’t fail me.’ She shook her head firmly. ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘It isn’t always enough to just smooth things over,’ he said, stroking her hand, his grey eyes looking right into her dark ones. ‘That’s the weak man’s way of dealing with things and I’ll have it on my conscience for ever.’

  Later, Amos escorted Ellie up to bed.

  ‘This can come down,’ he said, ripping the tacked-on black-out material from the window, flooding the room with pale dawn light. It was another reminder of his failure to notice Grace’s more subtle forms of cruelty. Even if this was the last time Ellie would sleep in the room, he didn’t want her waking and thinking she was back in the cellar.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, moving over to the bed and bending to tuck her in. ‘I won’t let Grace come near you and I shall be here all the time until your aunt arrives.’

  ‘Thank you for being kind,’ Ellie said in a small voice. ‘You and I did have some good times together, didn’t we?’

  Amos looked down at her and his heart contracted painfully. She was as pale as the pillowcase, except for an angry purple swelling coming up on her forehead, and her eyelids were puffy. Even her beautiful dark hair had lost its gloss.

  ‘Some of the best times I remember,’ he replied, fighting back tears.

  She gave a shuddering sigh and her eyes closed.

  ‘Sleep tight,’ he said, remembering that was what his mother had always said when he was a small boy sleeping in this very room. ‘Call out if you need me.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Let me ’ave five minutes with your bloody sister and I’ll put her away permanently,’ Marleen snarled at Amos.

  ‘Believe me, Miss Hathersley, I’m tempted to do that myself,’ Amos sighed. ‘But further scenes in this house will only be more upsetting for Ellie.’

  It was three in the afternoon. Amos had taken the precaution of locking Grace in her room after he put Ellie to bed. Between checking on her and Ellie hourly, he was exhausted.

  Ellie was still in bed. She’d woken at eleven, drunk a cup of tea and nibbled at some toast, and then gone back to sleep. Grace was silent and brooding, a danger sign as far as Amos was concerned. She hadn’t objected to being locked in, but neither was she repentant, and had merely smirked when Amos told her that the doctor would be coming that evening.

  Marleen had arrived at two-thirty with an American airman
called Kurt Vorster, a giant of a man with a blond crew cut and features which looked as if they’d been rearranged by other men’s fists. The American’s tough appearance and the woman’s distraught state had made it doubly hard for Amos to explain the events of last night.

  Amos knew so much about Marleen from Ellie that he’d formed a picture in his head of a glamorous, bubbly redhead, something like Rita Hayworth. But this woman sitting in his parlour looked gaunt; her hair was almost orange, with dark roots, and her black costume, clearly intended as mourning, was tight and sleazy-looking, particularly when surrounded by Grace’s prissy lace cloths and biblical pictures. Worse still, she had the language of a fishwife, and he suspected she was more than capable of rampaging upstairs and dragging his sister out by the hair.

  Before she’d arrived, Amos had had it all quite clear in his head what he was going to say. He hadn’t for one moment expected it to be easy to explain about his sister, but he had hoped Ellie’s aunt would hear him out calmly.

  But Marleen Hathersley wasn’t a calm woman. She had stalked around the room screaming abuse at him, demanding to know if he was mentally deficient, allowing an evacuee in the house when his sister was unbalanced.

  ‘I had no reason to think she’d do anything like this, and Ellie wanted to stay,’ Amos assured her more than once. ‘Ellie and I got on very well and she liked her teacher here. I admit my sister has always suffered with her nerves, but I couldn’t predict she’d turn like this. No one could.’

  Ellie was still asleep upstairs and Amos was determined to make Marleen calm down before she woke.

  ‘Ain’t it bad enough ’er mum’s dead without some loony attacking her and locking ’er in a fucking cellar,’ Marleen yelled at him. ‘D’you think she’ll ever get over that? That kid’s come through ’ard times with ’er mum, but she knew nothing but love till she came ’ere. If I ’ad my way I’d ’ang that woman up by ’er feet in yer bloody cellar and whip ’er till ’er skin comes off in ribbons.’